Fireworks
by ecj30
Summary: Tony takes Ziva out for a 4th of July celebration in honor of her newly obtained citizenship. Tiva oneshot that just wouldn't leave me alone. Happy 4th of July!


**Note: For those of you reading ****Don't You Want to Share the Guilt****, no worries, it's still coming along. But this was something that I could not let go of! (and it's completely unrelated)  
The 4****th**** of July is a great holiday and I think Ziva's citizenship coming only a month or so before would not go unnoticed by Tony. This is a little friendship and a little romance and a little silliness. The angst of "Rule 51" is too much for this story, so basically I'm going to ignore all of that, with the obvious exception of Ziva's citizenship. Another day, folks.**

**I've only been to DC once and I'm not going to pretend to know their Independence Day celebration schedule, but I'm sure that something happens, so we're going to pretend that this is it. **

* * *

He showed up at her door around five, carrying what appeared to be a pie and a six pack of a potentially questionable beverage. Standing there in relative shock, she stepped aside slightly to let him walk in happily, her confused eyes never leaving his face.

Eyeing the take out boxes on her coffee table, he turned to her in shock—only half feigned—and reprimanded her. "Ziva! It's the fourth of July, it's the _birthday_ of your new country, and you're eating _Chinese_? You better not let immigration see this, or they'll send your pretty little butt back to Israel before you can say 'star spangled banner.' This is almost a matter of national security. You _work_ for the government! We got the _day off_ specifically for this holiday and you're sitting at home, watching TV, eating _Chinese_!"

She stuck her hip out, cocked her head to the side, and raised one eyebrow. "Are you finished yet, Tony?"

"Absolutely not!" he almost shouted, setting his food on the table, pushing her take out to the side unceremoniously. "I brought a traditional apple pie, almost as much of an American pastime as baseball itself-"

"And the drinks?" she inquired, interrupting his newly started rant. Whatever it was, she hoped it contained significant amounts of alcohol because she was sure that she could not handle his overwhelming nationalism without being at least a little inebriated.

"Root beer. We are about to go out in public and while I'm positive that at least 75% of the citizens out on the streets right now are completely trashed because _they_ know how crucial Independence Day is as a holiday, we are federal agents and should be more responsible when taking the city by storm. And besides, everyone knows that root beer is delicious and is making its mark right up there with baseball and apple pie," he finished, waving the pie in her general direction.

"I have never had it," Ziva said. "I do not see the point." Her day off had been relaxing and peaceful. She knew the significance of the day but did not feel the need to participate since she was, after all, barely a new citizen, an 'American Probie' as Tony had once called her. July 4th clearly meant television marathon in the United States, because she had been watching reruns of old sitcoms all day long. Her hair was wild, she had on no makeup, and her outfit choice was less than appropriate for a night on the town. As much as she appreciated Tony's efforts to assimilate her, she did not feel like getting ready now.

His jaw dropped at her confession. Then he burst into laughter. "Well, damn, Ziva, you have missed out! You're so lucky to have me. Come on," he said, checking his watch, "we've still got time to go eat before."

Her arms crossed in front of her chest. "Before _what_, exactly?"

He stepped toward her, his expression incredulous. "Before fireworks! We've got to be at the Washington Monument by seven at the latest or there won't be anywhere left for us to sit! We'll end up by the Reflecting Pool like me and McGee last year, and there are too many trees to see anything good, and sitting on pavement is no fun anyways."

She sighed. "Is there any way that I would be able to convince you to go get McGee?"

"Again, absolutely not! First of all," he counted on his fingers, "he went to visit his sister. Second of all, it's your first 4th of July as an official citizen! You can't honestly be telling me that you would rather watch "Golden Girls" alone then come see fireworks with me. And third, I would rather spend the time with you anyways." He looked at his shoes sheepishly. "McGee's pretty boring," he justified.

Breathing a soft laugh, she conceded defeat. "Fine. But you have to wait while I get ready, and I will not allow you to rush me. We have plenty of time."

"Sure," he said, "go right ahead. Take your time. But when we're staring into Abe Lincoln's eyes instead of blinding, deafening explosions of awesome, then you can only blame yourself."

She rolled her eyes and turned to go into her bedroom. As she walked away from him, Tony's unabashed Y chromosome stared at her, watching her hips swing in those tiny little shorts and wondering how she would be able to get out of that tight little tank top that showed just enough midriff and more than enough shoulder. He bit his lip and sat down, not fully trusting himself enough to not dash after her and have his way.

Shutting the door behind her, Ziva walked into her closet and stared. What would be appropriate for this kind of outing? She had never really experienced anything like this before. Her hands reached out for a purple skirt when she heard a muffled shout from the living room. "Whatever you wear, make sure it's red or blue! You have to be festive!"

She chuckled and grabbed a red sundress. "How much walking will we be doing?" she shouted back, shuffling through her shoes.

"A whole hell of a lot if you don't hurry up!" he responded, causing her to laugh outright. Sandals would have to suffice, she thought.

"I am working as fast as I can, but it takes time if you want me to look decent," she joked.

"Well honestly, I thought you looked fine in what you had on," he replied, his voice light, and she could practically see the teasing smirk on his face.

"Hey!" she yelled, glad that he would not be able to see her pleased smile. "You are lucky that I am not out there or you would be without several parts of your anatomy which I am sure you would miss."

She heard his bark of laughter as she stood in front of the mirror, having finished her makeup and now debating on how to tame her mass of curls.

"Seriously Ziva!" he said, knocking at her door. "It's like five thirty now, by the time we get to the restaurant it'll be six or six thirty and once we get done we can kiss goodbye any chance of seeing anything except the grand finale."

She opened the door at last and squinted at him, almost daring him to look her up and down like he was clearly attempting to avoid. He chewed the inside of his cheek and refused to break her gaze, despite losing oxygen rapidly because he hadn't noticed his breath hitch and stay there when she appeared.

"Are we eating pie now or later?" she asked innocently, amused at his reaction.

"I, uh, later?" he stumbled, still flustered. "Later. But now, missy, we have got to get downtown because if not then your first official fourth will be a waste." He grabbed her hand and all but dragged her out of the door, barely pausing to let her lock it behind them.

After they sat through hellish traffic which was often accompanied by car horns and curses, he finally found a parking place on Pennsylvania Avenue and they walked a handful of blocks before reaching their destination.

"A burger joint?" she asked, looking up at him. "There is one of these exact places near the Navy Yard."

"Yes, my dear Zee-vah, but this is America, which was practically founded on burger joints. It's only fair that we celebrate its birthday by dining here."

"The line is out the door!"

"Which is why I wanted you to hurry," he told her, daring to rest his hand on the small of her back and guide her to the entrance. She met his gaze at the gesture but did not flinch away, and he swore she leaned into him just a little.

Confidence sufficiently boosted, he carried the conversation throughout their meal, discussing the most strategic places to sit to get the best view.

"Ideally, you want to be as close to the base of the monument as possible," he described, complete with hand motions. "That way, you're a _little_ bit on a hill and it creates kind of a stadium seating effect. Oh, and you want to avoid big groups of anyone under the age of twenty five. Every group comes with their own brand of obnoxious, but those are the worst. I mean, obviously there's going to be the tourist factor, and that kind of sucks, but that's what we get for living in the nation's capital, especially on the fourth."

They finished eating and all but fought the horde of people still waiting for their food until they finally pushed into the street. Despite the sun having set nearly an hour before, the air was hot and muggy, and Ziva could nearly feel her hair poofing out of its gentle restraints. Sweat began to cause her dress to stick to her back and she wondered if this whole ordeal was worth a few minutes of fireworks. But taking one look at Tony, his eyes joyous like a child's, she knew that she would suffer through it for him.

Starting down 14th street, Ziva watched all of the people smiling, laughing, all headed in the same general direction. Most were dressed in some sort of patriotic clothing, from a simple red t-shirt to the most ridiculous American flag pants. This was home. These were her new siblings. Although she had been wary at first of her citizenship, of the abandonment of everything in her past, the comfort that she felt walking around D.C., the hum of excitement that was omnipresent was enough to make her elated at her decision.

And it was enough to let her arm wind lazily around Tony's waist as they continued to walk.

He looked down at her, unable to catch her eye, but casually slung his arm across her shoulders. They walked in time with each other, legs sometimes brushing. As they approached Constitution Avenue, the volume of people became more pronounced and it became increasingly difficult to move two abreast. Reluctantly separating, he led the way, snatching her fingers before he even had time to forget that they weren't pressed against each other any longer.

The whole of the Monument was in their sight now, as were the thousands of people surrounding it. Cameras flashed as tourists posed for their quintessential D.C. shot. The fourth of July on the National Mall—a street vendor's dream. Lines twisted their way across the streets and grass, people walking away happily with ice cream and sodas. The fifty flags surrounding the base billowed softly, peacefully in the summer breeze, a stark contrast to the fury of motion below.

"Shit," Tony whispered, checking his watch. "The fireworks start in an hour. There usually aren't this many people here. We have a few options. We can go down to the World War II memorial, maybe find a seat on the steps, or we can go to the far side of the Lincoln Memorial and test our luck there. I've got my badge, so I guess if we get desperate we can always _make_ people move. What kind of weapons do you have on you?"

"Tony, we are not making anyone move. I know this is important to you, so you can pick a place. I think there are more people floating around than actually sitting, so maybe we will find a place around here anyways. It cannot hurt to check," Ziva said, patting his hand sympathetically.

He looked longingly at the top of the monument. "All right. We'll give it a shot."

They moved quickly down 15th street, keeping an eye out for any open space. Reaching the concrete base, she saw a patch of unoccupied grass. The thrill of searching and the hope of finding had fully intoxicated Ziva and she nearly shouted with excitement, pulling at Tony's hand and all but running towards the spot.

"This breaks my under twenty five rule, but since we're running _late_," he said, looking at her pointedly, "I guess it will have to do." She playfully reached up and slapped his face before settling down in the grass, stretching her legs out in front of her and leaning back onto her forearms.

"I do not care if you like this spot or not, Tony. I am staying here." He too sat down, unsure of the distance he should leave between them. Settling on what would probably be considered 'yellow light,' he looked around at the people surrounding them.

"So," he started, planning to fill the time they had before the fireworks began, "how does it feel to be a bona fide American citizen now?"

"Well," she replied, "it did not feel very different. At least not until now. I think I understand why you enjoy the fourth of July so much."

"See? And you didn't even want to come tonight, did you?"

"I never said that," she laughed, "but no, I was looking forward to a quiet night alone."

"It wouldn't have been quiet. You can hear the fireworks for miles. Hell, you'd probably be able to see them from your balcony."

"Regardless, this was not what I had in mind when I got up this morning," she said, turning to face him.

The closeness of his face—most notably his mouth—was startling. Whatever comment she was going to make was long forgotten. The temptation was more than real, and she started to lean in, started to notice him leaning in too, when an explosion shattered the sky and shouts rang out from the people around them.

Instinctively, Ziva's hand went to her waist, feeling for her gun. But when the shouts registered as cheers, and the explosion rained red and blue color onto Tony's face, she relaxed and realized the show had begun.

"Crap, I guess they started early this year," Tony yelled over the din. "Probably why we almost didn't get a spot."

"Probably," she responded. As the fireworks continued, she stared at the sky, completely mesmerized. She had never associated blasts with beauty. But there was no other word she could find to describe the fireworks display, and more than ever she comprehended Tony's obsession that she join him.

"How long will this last?" she asked, beginning to regret the earliness of the show and the lost opportunity.

"About an hour or so. Maybe longer this year since they started before they usually do. Why? You don't want to leave, do you? We've made it this far, you've at least got to see the finale, it's the best part," he rushed, disappointment apparent in his eyes.

"No, of course I want to stay!" she said. How could she explain her question? Best not to, she decided. Instead, she shifted her weight just enough so that she was pressed against him, almost the full length of their bodies touching.

She heard the breath hiss out of his mouth before she felt his palm on her cheek, and she barely got a glimpse at his eyes before his lips deliciously descended upon hers. Almost instantaneously a moan escaped her, and it caused him to sit up, pulling her with him, and wrapping an arm possessively around her waist.

Another firework ripped through the sky, effectively breaking them apart.

"Options," he panted, wiping a hand across his face. "Because doing this in public, in front of small children…probably a one way ticket to jail. Not to mention the Gibbs slap from hell. But I guess that will come anyways. Oh, damn, screw the rules," he said, and took her face in his hands once again and kissed her.

She grudgingly pulled her mouth away from his when she realized that the point of no return was quickly approaching and no, they should not end the night with a public nudity arrest because they could not control themselves.

"You said we could see the fireworks from my balcony?" she said, out of breath.

He nodded. "We can probably catch the finale if we hurry."

"Well then what are we waiting for?" she asked, standing up. He followed her, and they took off toward the road, stepping around families on blankets with little attempt or success at avoidance. By the time they reached his car on Pennsylvania Avenue, he had stopped them half a dozen times, pulled her out of the way of any pedestrians, and kissed her solidly on the mouth. And each time it became progressively more difficult to stop and continue the trek to his car.

Tires squealed on pavement as they rushed back to Ziva's apartment. The cops were surrounding the National Mall for security and few others shared the road, so the drive was nearly unhindered, and they arrived quickly.

Physical contact was never broken as they made their way up the stairs. By the time they were at her door, Tony's mouth had been pressed against almost every inch of skin from her shoulders up. He groaned with impatience as she fished in her bag for the key and turned it in the lock.

Slamming the door shut behind him, he pressed her against the wall, connecting their lips yet again. His hands roamed her body freely, causing her to arch her back into him and drag her fingers through his hair.

"Shit, Ziva," he muttered, his voice full of lust, as he trailed his mouth across her jaw and down her neck.

She pushed off of the wall and directed them towards her bedroom, clothes being shed as they moved. Muffled explosions could still be heard in the distance, and the dark room would occasionally light up with color as a particularly high flying firework went off.

His lips seared a path down her body, and she moaned his name in pleasure as he pushed her over the edge before he quickly followed.

They lay there for a while, surrounded by each other, content, calm, relaxed. The fireworks were still going on outside, and Tony turned to see the colors flash across her face.

"If we go out now, we'll for sure see the grand finale," he whispered into her hair, his arm resting across her hips.

She laughed quietly, barely audible, and got up, searching for her discarded clothes. After settling for her underwear and his button down, she followed him onto her balcony where he sat in his boxers.

A burst of green shone across the night sky. "Told you this would be a good place for fireworks," he said, offering her a root beer that he had retrieved.

She took a sip and grimaced, setting the bottle onto the floor. "I like the real stuff better," she told him, shaking her head.

He laughed. "Well maybe apple pie will be more successful, huh?"

A myriad of colors, shapes, and sizes spread across the night, illuminating the buildings around them and exposing the very tip of the Washington monument from where they sat. The noise was deafening, even at their distant location. Instead of watching the fireworks, though, his eyes were trained on her face, gauging her reaction. After a moment of shock, her expression turned to one of happiness and she smiled.

When the finale finished, the silence was heavy, mingling with the still humid air. They were at ease though, satisfied with each other's presence and felt no dire need to fill the space with useless conversation.

After a few minutes, he spoke. "I don't know if I've even told you this yet, but congratulations, Ziva. I know I gave you a hard time about it, but it's a pretty damn big deal to become a citizen. I mean, obviously, they don't let just anybody in."

"Thank you," she responded softly, leaning her head onto his shoulder. "I am glad they let me in. Otherwise I may never have seen these fireworks," she teased, raising an eyebrow, running her hand down his leg.

"You know, I could make a completely inappropriate comment about that, and I'm actually pretty sure you set it up that way," he said, his hands sneaking under her—his?—shirt and across her warm, golden skin.

She let out a laugh that quickly turned into a moan as his hands traveled upward and his mouth was once again pressed to hers.

As she moved from her chair to his lap, he whispered, "I guess your first taste of apple pie will have to wait." She laughed and kissed a trail up his neck while his hands were busy unbuttoning that pesky shirt she was wearing.

"I guess so. Happy birthday, America."


End file.
